


Portraits and Landscapes

by onereyofstarlight



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [1]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Family Feels, Gen, Light Angst, Visiting the past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:35:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26947546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onereyofstarlight/pseuds/onereyofstarlight
Summary: Scott is invited back to his old high school to deliver a speech and drags everyone along. They're keen to see the place again, except for Alan who's less sure.
Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1966411
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24





	Portraits and Landscapes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [neuroticphysiologist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neuroticphysiologist/gifts).



> I do not have a set headcanon for Tracy ages in the slightest, but for this to make sense you should be picturing a significant age gap between Alan and Gordon - about 8 years difference. In addition, I forgot that the US high school has only four years, so um... it goes: Scott = senior(Y12), Virgil and John = junior(Y11), and Gordon = freshman (Y9) while Alan is 6. (I'd like to point out that with NZ going up to Y13, this felt REALLY weird to type)
> 
> Roll with it I guess, it's a fic xD

Alan’s seen Scott’s broad, celebrity smile a thousand times before, but there’s something riveting about this afternoon’s performance in front of the crowd gathered in his old high school. Relaxed shoulders, open expression and a magician’s misdirection away from the troublesome knee injury that had left him grounded. Students and guests of the school alike were lapping it up.

The invitation to the opening of the newest building on the long established campus had been flagged quickly by Tracy Industries and it wasn’t long before John had persuaded Scott to attend with a pointed raise of his eyebrows. Relief swept across the island with the promise of a new project to keep Scott busy and lift his foul mood, and it wasn’t long before they’d all been roped into a visit home to Kansas soil.

Scott always had been good at persuading his brothers to follow his lead.

Scott’s little speech was the pinnacle of the official events and raucous laughter and scattered applause filled the auditorium as he ended with a flourish. He glanced over at them with a triumphant grin, before turning his attention to the flock of admirers that still wanted more from him.

“Come on, let’s go,” said Virgil, with a look of amused exasperation. “He’ll want to catch up with half the town before we head on back.”

Alan watched in bemusement. He’d always preferred the town to their visits to the big cities, no need for caution or carefully planned itineraries, appreciating the simple lives the people led and the ordinary way they interacted with him and his brothers. Seeing Scott mobbed like he was on a red carpet was a novel experience in this place.

“Should we help him out?”

Gordon snorted. “Nah, Allie, he’s fine. Mister Popular was always like this, I remember having to wait hours after school when he’d promised to drive me home.”

“At least he drove you in the end,” said John. “My first day of high school, he just shoved me on the bus so he could spend more time with that girl. Ann? Pamela?”

“Erica,” said Virgil. “You both know I could have driven you, right?”

“No thanks,” said the pair quickly.

Alan laughed at the affronted look on Virgil’s face.

“I can’t believe Virgil was that bad a driver.”

“It wasn’t the driving,” said Gordon, pulling a face. “Parker straightened that out pretty quickly.”

“It was _Lizzy_ ,” said John.

“Lizzy was a great car,” protested Virgil. “I fixed her up just fine.”

“You fixed her up every day for a year before Dad finally made you sell her for parts,” declared Gordon. “She broke down more than a Fischler project.”

Virgil huffed a little, but Alan could see the grin he was trying to bite back.

“Wasn’t all bad though.” Gordon kick at one of the lockers that lined the long corridor away from the auditorium. A loud clang echoed through the school and Alan instinctively ducked away from the death glare Scott shot at them through the open doorway.

“Speak for yourself,” said John. “You weren’t missing much, Alan.”

“Aw, don’t be like that Johnny,” said Gordon. He shoved him to one side and posed dramatically. “Here’s where I had my first kiss.” He raced to a forlorn looking table, and patted it gently. “Here’s where I wrote all my homework during study hall, look you can still see my initials.” He tapped the carved letters with a look of pride.

“There’s where you got detention,” muttered John. “Oh, and over there too, and that’s where you got suspended for vandalism, real nice, Gordon.”

“I left my mark, that’s all that counts,” said Gordon airily.

He came to a halt in front of the library, staring at the double doors with a delighted grin.

“You can’t tell me you hated everything, when _this_ place existed.”

“I only liked it because it was the one place that had the good sense to ban you.”

Gordon only smiled wider as he flung the doors open and dragged John inside, Alan and Virgil trailing behind.

“Look any different, John?”

“Be _quiet_ ,” hissed John. He was backed by an infuriated shush that seemed to surround them.

Gordon started, fear creeping into his eyes, and then relaxed as he caught sight of an elderly lady who looked like she could go toe to toe with Colonel Casey and not break a sweat.

“Sorry, Mrs B,” he said, cheerily.

The old woman pointed at the wall with a huff, and Alan grinned at the photo pinned to the wall; A fourteen year old Gordon, freckled and bright-eyed and a cheeky smile mirrored by the man himself.

“You kept my photo? After all these years? I’m touched, Mrs B, want me to sign it for you?”

“Out.”

Gordon lifted his hands in defeat, still laughing.

“She really means it when she says lifelong ban, Allie, watch yourself,” he said in an undertone.

He raised his voice to address the formidable Mrs B.

“I’m going, I’m going,” he called, shoving John back through the doors he had barrelled through. “I remember the rules, don’t worry.”

“Hmph,” she said, eyeing Alan closely as he made to follow his brothers. Their voices echoed as they walked away, secure in the familiarity of these halls.

He stilled, hand on the doorknob at the display in the corner that caught his eye. Two sparkling glass trophy cases, and class photos that spanned generations. He wandered over, peering at the names and faces of the hundreds of students that had walked the same corridors as his brothers.

Once, he might have been one of them. If things had gone differently, he’d be here right now. It might have been someone else making today’s speech.

The Tracy name spun together with the history of this place.

John’s, engraved on a number of academic awards, four years in a row.

Gordon’s, taking a place of pride in a variety of sporting shields and a clear favourite for sportsmanship awards as well.

He flipped through the digital archive, selecting the old yearbooks, and there was Virgil, grinning out of the holoscreen at him. He held a trophy of his own, with a young John staring adoringly up at him. Alan blinked, reading the caption that described the school’s first victory in a robotics tournament thanks to the duo.

There was Scott, class president and valedictorian of his year, presenting a speech at graduation. Scott’s name seemed to be almost everywhere he looked, every award, every prize, every photograph of the era. His magnetic brother had thrived here.

The more he looked, the more he found.

He looked up at the photographs, searching for the familiar faces in the crowds. Searching for traces of a past he couldn’t remember and had never been a part of.

A hand fell heavy on his shoulder and he jumped.

“I can’t believe they still have all these old photos,” said Virgil, looking intently into each frame.

Alan didn’t reply, switching his focus instead to his brother. He could read recognition in his brother’s eyes.

“Look,” said Virgil suddenly, “there’s Dad.”

“What?” Alan surged forward, looking back at the photos Virgil pointed to, long before his birth. “Dad went here?”

He could see for himself that it was true – his teenage father looked just like his memories of Scott and Virgil at that age – and he couldn’t help stifling a laugh at the dated haircut.

“Mom too,” said Virgil, pointing at the young girl sitting next to him.

Alan froze, his breath catching in his throat. She smiled up at him with Scott’s dimples and a light in her deep, brown eyes that he recognised in Gordon. He had her hair, he’d always known that, but he’d never seen her with freckles just like his.

“I didn’t know she wore glasses.”

The words came out in a hoarse whisper, squeaking past the lump that had settled in his chest.

Virgil looked surprised.

“You haven’t seen them in our baby photos? She switched to contacts after Gordon was born, he kept grabbing at them.”

Alan just shook his head, not sure if he could speak. He didn’t think he’d ever seen his brothers’ baby photos. It wasn’t the sort of thing they shared, sitting down and searching through the past. There was too much pain there, and when he was feeling disconnected from his mom, it was always his own photos they reached for.

Always, there was the reassurance that their mom had loved _him_.

Never an indication of the life his brothers had lived before him. A hometown, the same high school, people who called out to them on the street just to say how much they’d grown. People who wanted to tell them they’d done this place he barely knew proud.

“You okay, Allie?”

A tight smile betrayed his thoughts.

“She was really pretty,” he said softly, drawing a finger across the glass.

Virgil nodded slowly. For a moment, Alan thought he might say something and he desperately willed him not to, unsure he’d be able to speak. The moment soon passed and he stepped forward again, to point out more people intertwined with their life before Alan.

He nodded and hummed along, trying to feign interest as best he could, but he could feel the disappointment radiating from Virgil. He wanted to share this with him, but there were consequences to their father whisking them to a new home before Alan could take root here.

An island home suited him, adrift in a lonely sea and isolated from the stability that connected his family to their own homeland.

“Come on,” said Virgil, a soft look in his eye. “Scott’s done, and we want to show you something before we go.”

Curious, Alan followed his brother outside to see his family gathered together, joking and laughing in the courtyard.

“Hey, Alan!” called Gordon, wide grin on his face. “Remember this?”

Behind them, he could see a mural painted over the concrete. The colours were faded and the paint was chipped, the significance of the artwork paid little attention to by students across the years, hurrying and late to class.

As he approached, he could recognise the section they were gathered in front as one of Virgil’s works – a landscape image of the school building just replaced and reopened, living on only in his painting. A sketch of the new building lay next to it, waiting for a new artist to bring the newest period in the school’s history to life.

He looked back through the past images in fascination, from the simple, single roomed wooden building to the magnificent architecture of glass and masonry that stood in front of him today. All the images were true to life, he assumed, painted over as time went by and yet another testament to the proud history to which he couldn’t belong.

Virgil’s own mural stood out from the rest, and not just because he recognised his brother’s bold strokes. It was marred by impulsive streaks of colour, pure blues and bright reds, and in these areas, a technical drawing of the school had been painted in contrast with the realism of the rest of the image.

Two handprints – one large and one small – lay bright in the corner.

“By Virgil and Alan Tracy,” he murmured, reading the small print beside them. “I did this?”

“Let’s just say you wanted to ‘help’,” said Scott with a wicked grin at Virgil.

“I was babysitting you,” said Virgil, crouching down next to the painting. “Biggest project I’d ever been given at the time.”

“And boy, did we hear about it when you painted over it,” said Scott.

“We could hear him yelling from the other side of town,” added Gordon, laughing. “He wouldn’t speak to you for a week. Have you ever seen a teenager trying to ignore a six year old? Funniest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“”In my defence, I thought the school would pull me from the project. I’d spent months planning it in my spare time, I was terrified I’d lose it.”

“Sorry,” mumbled Alan, his ears hot.

“Nothing to be sorry for, Al,” said John, squeezing his shoulder. “Dad straightened him out in the end, you really _can’t_ ignore an upset six year old for long.”

“Besides, it turned out better than before.” Virgil tapped the image lightly. “You covered up all my lighting mistakes on the front staircase.”

Alan laughed, a warm glow in his chest. He hadn’t expected to find a trace of himself at this school everyone else seemed to belong to. He hadn’t expected to care, but his brothers did and maybe that was how his history could be made. He’d never gone to this school, but he’d left his mark all the same. He didn’t recognise the people, couldn’t walk the halls blindfolded, but he shared a past with the place all the same, shared between him and his brothers.

Maybe, he thought, spirits soaring high as he laughed easily with them. Maybe he didn’t have to live in a town for it to feel like home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! Original posted on Tumblr on 5/10/2020


End file.
